“I hope, as you are out of doors, that you are better, Edgar?” he said.
“Oh yes, thanks, almost well,” said Edgar.
“Your boy, little Warren, has been getting into trouble. He has let down the young bay horse and broken his knees.”
“Wyn! Has he? What had he to do with the horse?” said Edgar, very much startled as he thought of what Wyn should have been doing.
“He had been driving his mother and her niece to Ravenshurst as I understand, and went to fetch his sister from the station. He let down the horse in Coombe Lane. That is what I am told,” said Mr Cunningham with emphasis, and using all the advantage his position gave him to look straight down into Edgar’s face.
“Was he hurt?” said Edgar, looking straight up in return.
Mr Cunningham was very angry with his son, and little disposed to be merciful to him, though he had not meant to enter on the subject of the letter if Edgar had been more manifestly unequal to a discussion.
“He broke his head; I believe nothing serious. He had a letter for you, which I undertook to deliver myself,” and Mr Cunningham laid Alwyn’s unopened packet in Edgar’s hand.
Edgar caught his breath, but his face never flinched as his father went on:
“I was not aware, when you spoke to me the other morning, that you were already in communication with your brother.”